The Dandruff of Angels
by Your Angel of Music
Summary: "My Dad used to call it 'The Dandruff of Angels'. It's hard to like something once you've heard it being called that." Snow has fallen and a certain Welshman is most unhappy. Can Jack change his mind? Or are some things as they are for a reason?


**Title:** Dandruff of Angels  
**Characters:** Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper  
**Pairings:** Jack/Ianto  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Rating/Warnings:** Teen - language  
**Summary:** Snow has fallen and a certain Welshman is most unhappy.

**A/N:** Today, in Cardiff, it snowed. There was much rejoicing within my student halls as the occupants took pictures, threw snowballs and delved in as deeply as possible. Unfortunately, I could not share in their jubilation. A few weeks ago I was diagnosed with Post-Nasal Drip as a result of a cold virus, which means that mucus and phlegm is dripping constantly down the back of my throat. This condition has also resulted in my throat developing several ulcers. The condition flared up after I made several trips in the freezing snow, and as a result I have had to cancel my evening out and am huddled in a Snuggie in front of my computer. This is the result of that experience. Call it therapy. Or something.

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**Dandruff of Angels**

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A sudden pain shot through Ianto's throat, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling for the nearest flat surface. His hands braced against the wall, leaving him free to double over as his whole body trembled with each spasm of sharp agony that travelled along his windpipe.

He hacked violently, one hand coming up to loosen the recently-threaded top button of his suit; his throat felt constricted and tight beneath the material, as if the threads had hardened to a sharp point against his flesh. His shoulders shook as his trembling fingers worked the buttons, water gathering in the corner of his eyes and spilling over onto his cheeks.

Eventually, much to Ianto's relief, the pain subsided and his airway cleared. His body took a while to register this fact completely, his spine tensed in shock at the suddenness of the onslaught. He shook his head once, twice, grimacing at the foul taste in his mouth as he managed to straighten his back and readjust his skewed tie.

Each inch of his body seemed to throb with dull aftershocks as he stumbled towards the bathroom and spat frantically into the sink, clearing every corner of his mouth with the toothbrush he had just finished using. The suddeness of the attack had not been unexpected, but that didn't mean that Ianto could predict when they would take place or brace himself against them. His body felt drained as he leant against the sink, feeling his temple throbbing painfully just behind his eyes as he tried to let his body calm down and relax.

It had been weeks now – weeks since this bloody cold had taken hold and refused to let him go. He stared at his face in the mirror, noting his red-rimmed eyes with disgust.

_It's just a cold_, he hissed silently to himself. _Tidy yourself up and get to work_.

A few exhausting minutes passed before Ianto found himself in the hallway of his flat, jacket buttoned tightly to his throat and car keys gripped tightly in a vein-poppingly tight fist.

_You can do it_, he gritted his teeth, yanking at the door handle with his free hand. _It's only November – it won't be that cold…_

His thoughts were cut off as he was hit by a flurry of cold whiteness, the force of it sending him reeling back into the house and slamming the door shut behind him. The front of his coat clung to him with a dampness that he failed to understand for a few brief, confused moments; his face smarting and his eyelashes caught in a film of fragmented moisture.

_Shit_.

A groan ripped itself from his chest and he buried his head in hands, the heat from his forehead contrasting harshly against the dampness of his gloved fingers.

Somehow he managed to gather the courage to wrench the door open, squinting unattractively as he drew the collar of his coat up to protect as much of his face as possible. The wind roared against him as he fought his way to the car, crystal white shards burying themselves in every tiny crevice of his coat as if hungry for his bare skin. Even as he opened the car door and threw himself inside, he felt damp chunks sliding down the side of his face and leaving frozen tracks, the cold clinging deeply into his pores no matter how many times he wiped it off.

The car journey in itself was painful – the roads ran like iced ponds rather the tarmac, the cars on it (those who were stupid enough to be out in this weather - he thought bitterly) dancing awkwardly like overweight figure skaters. His hands smarted through his gloves as he gripped the wheel, the dampness of the cotton entrapping his fingers in a prison of ice.

"Fuck!" he muttered as he swerved to miss yet another mechanical casualty of the god-awful weather, his heart thumping and his brow knitting together. His icy mood deepened as the temperatures plunged, the scowl on his face embedding itself even further as he managed to make his way to the car park in one piece…and then promptly crashed to the ground a few feet from his vehicle.

"_Fuck!_"

Both Jack and Gwen looked up in surprise as Ianto stormed into the Hub, his nose blushed a deep scarlet and his fingers curved inwards like rosy talons against his side. His footsteps echoed violently throughout the space as he stamped the snow from his boots, kicking them to the side along with his jacket on the way to Jack's office.

Minutes later he had returned to the main building, his shirt, trousers and tie noticeably different to the damp ones he had entered in. Gwen cocked an eyebrow at Jack as she noticed this, wisely avoiding the blur of red faced Welshman heading past her. The immortal shrugged in return, a confused frown knitting his features. The dark haired woman through her arms in the air exasperatedly, fixing him with a glare before flinging one hand towards the coffee machine, the other gesturing downwards from her neck.

Jack looked at her blankly.

"You know he doesn't understand sign language," Gwen jumped as a gruff, slightly strained voice echoed from the kitchen. She turned to face it, smiling weakly as the tight figure emerged from the kitchenette and plonked a cup of coffee down by her side. She mouthed her thanks, clutching the warm cup and closing her eyes as the heat sank into her fingers.

The look of bliss on her face changed slightly as she took her first sip.

"Uh…Ianto?" her voice trembled as she spoke, purposefully focusing her gaze on the swirling liquid rather than the searing eyes of her colleague. "Sorry, but…I think…"

"We're out of real coffee," he snapped, pushing the white and blue striped mug forcefully into Jack's hands, barely noticing when he fumbled and nearly dropped it. "If you want to get some, be my guest."

"No, but Ianto…," Jack piped up, having taken a sip of the coffee himself. "It's just… you _hate _instant coffee…"

"Fuck instant," Ianto raged, draining his own cup and slamming it down onto the side. "Fuck coffee. And fucked if I'm going back out into the fucking snow."

And with that he stormed off, leaving two pairs of eyes staring perplexedly at the space he had just occupied. Gwen flicked her eyes to Jack, noticing the confusion and fear that lay in their depths. She understood completely. Ianto, by his very nature, was restrained and refined; locking his emotions behind a wall of stoicism. Even when he _was_ emotional, which Gwen guessed was not often when she was around, he did it in a way which was of the least trouble to everyone concerned.

'Fuck' was not a word which usually fell from Ianto's lips. In fact, Gwen could barely remember ever hearing her young colleague swear at all, and never before with any real vehemence behind the words. The last time he had been this…well…passionate had been…

"Jack."

The man in question jumped, casting his eyes fretfully towards her.

"Go and speak to him," she nodded her head towards the morgue, where Ianto had been headed. The fierceness of her gaze immediately closed his protesting mouth, her arm slowly stretching outwards to point down the tunnel.

"Go. And. Speak. To. Him."

Jack shrugged in a non-committal fashion as he started towards her, helplessness feeding into his eyes as he nevertheless obeyed the order and followed the point of her finger.

It didn't take long to find Ianto, who was busy with a clip-board fussing about with the various morgue drawers. Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched keenly, trying to read whatever he could in Ianto's tense stance. There was something distinctly macabre about Ianto's methods of stress relief – he pulled each door open one by one, examining the contents of the drawer (they were, Jack noted, from the Edwardian era), before noting something down on the board and leaving the occupant to their rest. Something on his face shone with relaxation and relief every time something seemed right – Jack didn't even both wondering what that 'something' was, instead choosing to step forward and let his shadow stretch outwards in the lights.

"Ah, Percy Deayton," he mused thoughtfully, seemingly nonplussed as Ianto turned sharply. "Now there's someone I remember well. Carpenter's apprentice, I recall…very skilled with his hands."

Ianto held the clipboard protectively against his chest as Jack neared him, engulfing him in his elongated shadow.

"What are you doing here?"

Jack shrugged.

"Just thought it was a nice day for a stroll."

The young man frowned.

"Yes, well," he replied tightly, nudging the open drawer shut and keeping the board pressed against his torso. "That's a matter of opinion, sir."

Jack nodded, thoughtfully, taking a step towards the young man and rocking on the balls of his feet.

"And what is your opinion, Ianto?"

An exasperated sigh fell from the Welshman's lips as he made his way to the side of the room. He punched a few numbers into the wall, pulling out a small boxed compartment into which he carefully filed away the papers on the clipboard.

"Ianto?"

"My opinion, sir?" Ianto slammed the door of the compartment shut, making sure it was closed before turning to face the older man. "I feel like crap, that's my opinion. My throat's filled with what feels like something that's come out of the bad end of a Weevil; my head feels like there's a samba party going on inside it; my fingers are cold, my toes are frozen, I think certain extremities have actually fallen off somewhere along the line, and on top of all that I think I cracked my coccyx – that's _coc-six_, sir - on the way in."

He let in a breath as he finished his tirade, slumping tiredly against the wall as the tenseness in his shoulders seemed to give out. Jack moved towards him quickly, pressing the back of his hand against Ianto's temple.

"Maybe we should get you checked out."

Ianto batted the hand away irritably, straightening up and pushing himself away from the wall.

"It's just a cold. Honestly, I did some tests a few days ago – it's nothing alien, it's nothing to worry about," he combated Jack's disbelieving look. "I just…absolutely _fucking_ _hate_ the snow."

A look of surprise flooded Jack's features.

"Really?"

"No, Jack, I just enjoy lying about my opinions of snow – _of course_, really."

"But," Jack seemed perplexed, shuffling awkwardly on his feet as his wide eyes fixed on his young companion. "What's there not to like about snow?"

"Let's see," Ianto began to count off on his fingers. "It's cold…it's wet…it gets in all the wrong places…it ruins clothes…it freezes…it makes it impossible to stand up…it nearly killed me in the car this morning…and did I mention that it ruins clothes…?"

"…it's virtually unique to this planet…" Jack added, holding up his hand and starting a list of his own. "…it creates some of the most beautiful sights this side of the Universe…it can be used for many different activities…you can catch it on your tongue and feel the moment when it changes state…" he seemed to struggle, his eyes pulling together and his tongue coming out to poke awkwardly at his bottom lip.

Ianto glowed in triumph.

"You see?" he waved his hand, fixing Jack with a pointed look. "There's more on my list."

A grin spread across Jack's face as he dropped his fingers, reaching out and gripping Ianto's arm to pull him towards him.

"You should know by now," he leered, turning on his heel and pulling a protesting Ianto after him. "It's not the _size_ that matters…it's what you _do_ with it that counts…"

"Jack…stop…" Ianto strained against him, failing only because he lacked the determination and purpose of his companion. "Where are we…?"

"Outside," Jack grinned.

There didn't seem much point in protesting, so the younger man relaxed his tired muscles and let himself be dragged along with Jack's exuberance. Somehow, he managed to persuade Jack to let him retrieve his coat first – not that it really helped; the soaking material moulded uncomfortably onto his shivering figure – and he soon found himself trembling in the cold of Roald Dahl Plass. He burrowed his fingers deep into his coat pockets, seeking out some semblance of warmth as he shot Jack a look that could have felled a tree.

"If you'd like to explain why we're here," he snapped irritably, only willing to indulge Jack's whims to a certain point. "Perhaps we could get this over with a little more quickly?"

Jack stood next to him, letting their arms brush together so that some of the perpetual warmth from his body was transferred to Ianto's tremulous frame.

"Just give it a few more…ah…here we are," a grin spread across his face as children began to spread across the Plass, the high timbre of their laughter and shrieks echoing around the two men. "Right on time…"

"What?"

"The schools, Ianto," the grin on Jack's face widened. "They've all been sent home. But what kid in their right mind goes home when there's _snow_ to be played in?"

The children seemed to move outwards like a tidal wave, gradually engulfing the basin until all that could be seen was a sea of multicoloured coats and flicking hair. The incomprehensible babble of sound drifted over to where Jack and Ianto were hovering, the high pitched rumbling hypnotic, almost, as they watched the children at play. Some threw snowballs, some dragged sleds, and others were putting together the foundations of a snowman or imprinting an angel into the snowy ground.

It was the sounds, the sights, the image of _life_.

"You know…" Jack leant inwards, his warm breath tickling Ianto's ear despite the numbness ringing through it. "…where I grew up we had no snow. Think what it was like coming to this planet for the first time – sure, I've seen the frozen landscapes of the ice planets, the permanent frost of the celestial rings, but nothing like this. The snowflakes, the falling fragility, the way it is shaped and built and pliable."

He smiled fondly as Ianto leaned in minutely, closing the gap between them just a little.

"We had nothing on this," his eyes traced the tiny figures as they sped past them, a sadness spotting his eyes. "Nothing to make kids shriek like this; to make their faces glow. Only snow does this. You should be proud of it."

Ianto seemed to ponder for a few seconds, watching as the children swarmed and laughed and giggled. It was difficult not be swept along in the wake of their…well…their pure _joy_.

"I know, Jack," Ianto turned to face him, a tiny smile spreading across his face. "It's all the things you say. Of course it is. I never, ever said that it wasn't. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Jack spluttered.

"But…Ianto…"

"Jack," Ianto silenced him, his smile reaching his eyes even as he shivered against the biting cold. "I can understand where you're coming from, but I can't change _me_. _I _don't like snow. I never have. I don't like being cold, and I don't like anything that makes me cold - even if that something _is _as beautiful as snow. Doesn't mean I can't watch other people enjoy it, but…" he shrugged, rocking forward on his heels in an attempt to gather more of Jack's body warmth to himself.

"It's me, Jack. I can't change that without changing myself. It's part of who I am, part of what makes me _me_. My dad..." he swallowed hard, the tiniest bit of sadness misting at his eyes; Jack narrowed his gaze intently, pressing closely against Ianto's side as the younger man opened his mouth to speak again. "My dad used to call it 'The Dandruff of Angels'. It's hard to like something once you've heard it being called that."

Ianto chuckled, somehow managing to infuse the sound with a dullness that made Jack stretch out his arm and wrap it around the shoulders of his young lover. The man himself didn't protest, instead letting himself be pulled into the eternal furnace that was Jack's body.

"He never had much time for anything fun. Not really. I guess you could say that runs in the family."

Jack squeezed Ianto's shoulder, encouraging the younger man to drop his head down to rest on the junction between his neck and his scapula. It was a difficult position, awkward seeing as it was a long way for Ianto's head to fall, but it was a position that gave them something they couldn't quite put their finger on.

Jack sighed against Ianto's hair.

"I wouldn't say that," he whispered softly. "You have plenty of time for fun…even if it is the kind that your Dad probably wouldn't approve of."

A cold huff hit Jack's chin as Ianto laughed quietly.

"It's probably a good thing he's not here then…" he sniffed suddenly and blinked, deciding almost immediately that it was the cold. Jack didn't question that.

They stood for a few minutes, Ianto feeding on Jack's warmth and Jack very willing to share. Eventually, however, a violent shudder shot through Ianto's body and he began to cough, holding his throat as he moved away from Jack. The older man rubbed a soft hand on his back as he hacked, remaining silent until the young man's body fell still.

"Come on," he gripped Ianto's shoulder, steadying him as he righted himself. "Let's get you inside."

"That sounds…" Ianto coughed again, clearing his ragged throat. "Like a good idea…"

As they turned, however, a smirk spread across his rosy face. The combined effect of expression and complexion gave him a look, a youthfulness, that Jack had never seen before.

"Better hurry up though, sir," he looked pointedly at Jack, grabbing at the hand on his shoulder and squeezing down with a tenderness which contrasted his playful tone. Not quite comprehending, Jack shot him a quizzical look as they headed towards Mermaid Quay. Ianto rolled his eyes, sending him a withering look as he nodded downwards.

"I've heard frostbite attacks the most sensitive areas first, you see…"

Jack had never moved so fast in his entire life.

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_FIN_

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_Ack! Ack! Yes, Ianto's illness here is based upon my own. I feel like a bad author for projecting myself onto a character in such a shameless way, but it was something which needed to be done.

Please drop by and tell me what you think! (oh, and a new pair of lungs would be nice, if you have any going spare)

Thank you for reading!


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